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He nodded. ‘I’ve met with a young guy who is helping me save this place—for a cut, of course. Still, it might fill the old coffers again.’
Because that was what it was all about for her dad, wasn’t it? Living the life he truly believed he was entitled to, even if they couldn’t afford it. ‘What does he intend to do?’ she asked, as neutrally as she could manage.
‘Do this place up. Use the land for corporate activities, events, the whole deal. Like Beresford did down at his place. I’ll introduce you tomorrow; he can tell you all about it.’
The image of Beresford Hall, all clean and crisp facilities, clashed horribly with Fowlmere in Faith’s memory. ‘I think it might take a bit more work than you’re anticipating, Dad. I’ve been to Beresford Hall. It’s pretty spectacular.’
Her father smiled a beatific smile. ‘That’s why it’s so wonderful that you’re home to help me. Serendipity, don’t you think?’
Fate was playing with her, just like it had at that airport bar in Rome. Her father looked so excited, so full of self-belief. But all Faith could feel was her escape routes closing in on her with every word.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THREE WEEKS LATER and still the world didn’t seem ready to let him forget about Faith and move on.
The first week had been the worst. Once the picture of Dominic and Faith looking dishevelled together at the Greyfriars hit the Internet it was in every single paper by the evening editions. And then came worse—the photographer who’d caught them leaving the theatre hand in hand. Footage of Westminster Bridge that evening where someone’s camera phone just happened to catch them embracing in the back of a photo. An anonymous source—Dominic suspected Jerry—who detailed how long Faith had worked for him and claimed ‘they always seemed like they had some big secret. Like they were laughing at us behind our backs.’
There were more stories after that. Someone—presumably a friend Faith had spoken to when setting up the events that week—told the story of Faith talking her way into the job over drinks at the airport. It read as far more sordid than Dominic remembered the reality being, and even Sylvia had called him up and squealed at him, demanding to know if that was really what had happened.
And then Faith’s apparently numerous ex-boyfriends had started getting in on the act, and Dominic had stopped reading the stories.
But he couldn’t avoid the headlines. Ridiculous puns and alliterations that no one showed any sign of getting bored with. ‘Runaway Heiress, Runaway Bride?’ was the latest one. Dominic hadn’t quite managed to restrain himself from reading the entire speculative article that followed that one, suggesting that Faith had left him just after he’d proposed marriage.
The worst of it was, with every article he learned something new about Faith—although he’d probably never know for sure what was truth and what was pure fabrication.
He’d learned about her family, finally making sense of the bits and pieces she’d told him. No wonder she’d hated being at Beresford Hall. By all accounts, her father had spent his way through the Fowlmere fortune in record time. He must have been a constant reminder of what she’d lost.
He’d followed the story of her misspent youth, too. The media had happily mined the photo archive with every article, although Dominic had barely recognised his Faith in the scantily clad, drunken society girl falling out of nightclubs and being caught on camera with the hot young celebs of the day.
His Faith. That was one thing she’d never been, not really.
In fact, if the papers had it right, if she was anyone’s Faith it was Jared Hawkes’s, the married rock star with a notorious drug problem who had, apparently, left his wife and kids for Faith, before she skipped the country.
She looked more like he remembered her in the photos of her leaving the hotel with Hawkes, which somehow made things worse.
He’d tried to keep his head down and focus on work, wait for it all to blow over like Matthew the PR guy advised. But even if Sylvia was reporting record numbers of visitors to Beresford Hall, the Americans had returned home leaving the contracts unsigned, after many awkward conversations and superior looks from Jerry. So now he was waiting. Waiting to see if his professional life could move past this scandal. Waiting to see when the next comparison piece between his mother and Faith would appear in the papers. Waiting, against reason, for Faith to suddenly appear in his life again, the way she had the first time.
Because, the truth was, London wasn’t the same without Faith. She’d already been gone longer than she’d been with him, but in three weeks that feeling of something being missing hadn’t faded. In the office, he missed her snarky emails pinging through every so often. In his apartment, he missed the idea of her sprawled across his sofa, tablet on her lap, sipping whisky. And in the city...well, that was the worst.
